


In which Stiles is no Pocahontas

by FluffyGremlin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Djinni & Genies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyGremlin/pseuds/FluffyGremlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think it's best to assume that, as of this moment, this is the only reality there is. There are a hundred different creatures and groups of people who can manipulate time and space and thoughts and memories. It's going to take time to research everything and figure out which one is affecting you. For now... focus on getting through tomorrow without poking any werewolves with sticks and we'll go from there."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Stiles is no Pocahontas

FenderBender  
  
It's not the jolt that makes Stiles wince. Not the way his head hits the steering wheel before jerking back again. No, it's the sound of metal dragging and crunching that turns his entire world gray for a moment before he can blink it away and look in at his rear-view mirror.  The other driver is already out of his car, glancing at where their cars now meet before heading towards Stiles' door.  The teenager tries to memorize the man's description, just in case, but all he gets before the man raps on his window is an average nondescript face on an average nondescript head atop an average nondescript body. He doesn't even get his window all the way down before another sound, low and dark like a freight train rumbling, pushes him back into the fuzzy nothingness.  
  
  
APalerShadeOfGrey  
  
Stiles wakes up slowly, his head throbbing as he tries to ignore the sound of his alarm going off. He rolls over eventually and fumbles with his phone until it finally turns off. Pushing himself up, he grumbles his way out of bed and into the bathroom, ignoring the way his vision goes watery in the white noise of the shower. Every light in the house seems overly bright this morning and Stiles closes his eyes as he towels himself off.  
  
"Not how I planned on starting the last week of my senior year," he grumbles. He  opens his eyes and glances at himself in the mirror. The Stiles looking back at him has a bruise on his forehead that the teenager didn't remember getting. "That explains the heada... What the...?"  
  
Stiles' vision goes slightly greenish around the edges as he speaks, light and dark, like summer grass and christmas trees.  He sputters at his reflection and the colors pop with each sound.  "Fuck." Darker, like rose leaves. "Me." Warmer now with a flash of yellow like dandelions.  
  
He rushes back to his room and grabs at his phone, fumbling with it as he struggles into the first shirt he can find. The sound of the ringing as the call connects is too loud and bright and Stiles drops down into his computer chair after pulling on some pants, eyes closed tight as he waits for Scott to answer.  
  
"Dude, do you know how early it is?" Stiles opens his eyes in time to see blue cascading in his peripheries.  
  
"Something's wrong," he says quickly. "I don't know what's going on but I'm seeing things and..."  
  
"Are you having panic attacks again?" Stiles can hear Scott sighing, soft and blue as a wave. "You know you don't have to worry about finals anymore so..."  
  
"It's not a panic attack!" Stiles winces at his own raised voice, the green he has come to identify himself with flashing brightly. "I can see colors!" He chews on his lip, waiting for Scott's response as he fires up his computer.  
  
"Your dad's gonna kill you."  
  
"What? I...." Stiles stumbles over his words, pausing his grey toned typing as his friend's words register. "I'm not high."  
  
"Right, sorry, I just..." Scott yawns loudly and stiles closes his eyes against the bright flash of sky blue. "Can we talk about this at school? I was up late."  
  
"How is Allison?" Stiles asks, eyes sliding along the Google responses, looking for something that doesn't have to do with LSD.  
  
"Who?" Stiles stops reading.  
  
"Your girlfriend?" He says slowly, green becoming muddy with confusion.  
  
"Dude, you seriously need to stay off the internet late at night." Scott hangs up before stiles can say anything else and the sudden silence leaves a dull feeling inside of him.  
  
Stiles bites his tongue as he stares at the phone for a moment longer before tossing it aside and refocusing on the computer screen. The cause of the colors seems obvious enough, thanks to wikipedia, but the cause of the Synesthesia does not. By the time Stiles runs through three pages of results it's already well past the time he should have been in class. Scott had already sent him a half dozen texts but Stiles blew him off, claiming a migraine before silencing the phone and tossing it aside. He can't shake the feeling that something isn't right. The name Allison is something he associated with Scott but now he didn't know why.    
  
"Shit," he sighs softly. He stares out the window for a moment, listening to the golden chirping of birds before finally getting up, grabbing his phone and bag and heading towards his jeep. It might be the last week but his dad still wouldn't be happy with him ditching school. Again.  
  
It's not until his at the edge of the woods that he even realizes he's turned right when he should have went left.  
  
  
HaleAndHardy  
  
Stiles stops his jeep well before Derek's old home comes into view. Things seem different in the woods, brighter and more alive than he remembers, even though everything seems foggy when he tries to focus on why he felt that way. He climbs out and starts walking through the trees, avoiding the drive and feeling like a creeper as he did so. The house was just around a bend and he stopped when the roof, the solid unburnt roof, came into view. He didn't even hear anyone approaching before a voice and flash of blood red caught caused him to spin around.  
  
"What are you doing here? This is private property." Stiles turns shortly and finds derek staring at him. The older man was wearing a pale grey shirt, arms crossed over his chest.  "Well?" Derek's words were spotted with a black as dark as the new moon.  
  
"I... got lost?" Stiles shoves his hands into his pockets as he fights the uneasy feeling curling in his stomach. Derek just narrows his eyes at him, no recognition in his face.  
  
"So get lost again." Stiles doesn't even respond, nodding instead and hurrying back the way he came. He gets sick once he reached the jeep as memories of a burnt down house overcame him, the smell of smoke and blood solidifying and making his stomach turn.  
  
He’s halfway home before an abrupt roll of thunder blinds him and he ends up swerving to the side of the road to avoid swerving in the opposite direction where a tractor trailer would turn him into roadkill.  Stiles groans, covering his ears and closing his eyes tight as the world flashes around him.  The thunder comes again, closer now, despite the bright sunshine burning red beyond his eyelids.  
  
Opening his eyes slowly, he sees shadows moving the grey that’s fogging his vision more and more with each loud rumble.  He can almost make out the man’s glowing blue eyes before succumbing to the headache that’s pressing in on him from all sides.  
  
BloodOrangeAndWheatGrass  
  
Stiles comes to surrounded by darkness, watching cars go by for several minutes before he even realizes he’s awake.  The storm and grey uncertainty is gone now and only Stiles, more confused than ever, remains.  He rubs a hand over his mouth before starting up his Jeep and pulling back onto the road.  
  
“So, Dad...” Stiles mumbles to himself as he drives towards his house.  “I keep blacking out and seeing weird things and I’m pretty sure there are some serious neurological shenanigans going on.” The teenager chuckles, the sound flashing brightly in the corner of his eye.  “Hehe... shenanigans.  Yea, Stiles, that’ll go over well.”  
  
He pulls into the driveway  of his house and drops his head sideways against the doorframe.  “How is this fair? Either I’m fucked in the head or something is fucking with my head and I just...” he swallows, running a hand over his face as if to push away the deep shades of green that have settled around him.  
  
Glancing at the phone sitting on the seat next to him, he realizes he's gotten more messages from Scott asking if Stiles wants the other teen to come over after he gets off of work.  "Work..." Stiles says slowly, "at the vet's office." He quickly straightens up and turns the engine back on. "I'm a total fucktard!"  
  
He actually gets to the veterinary hospital in time to see Scott walking out of the front door and holds his breath as his friend turns the other way and doesn't even glance in his direction.  The brunet is out of his jeep and at the door before Dr.Deaton has a chance to flip the lock.  
  
"Mr. Stilinski," the older man says cooly, "is there a reason you're holding my door open? Sudden inexplicable urge to adopt an old cat perhaps?"  
  
"I need someone to talk to." Stiles grits his teeth as he pushes past the vet.  
  
"Unless you're working on a last minute paper about getting neutered then I'm sure Ms. Morell would be a better..." The man's words trail off as he follows Stiles further into the office, watching the teen check each room before turning to face him in the operating room.  
  
"I can't talk to anyone else in town right now and you're the only one who might actually believe me because everyone has been affected and I think I'm going crazy except I know I'm not and..." Dr Deaton drops a hand onto Stiles shoulder to stop the ongoing verbal onslaught. Stiles takes a deep breath before continuing more calmly. "I know the Hales are werewolves. I know that you're some sort of magic mojo jojo type dude. I know that, yesterday, Derek was the only member of his family left and this morning there's a whole group of them and everyone and everything that I remember from before has gone fuzzy and wrong."  
  
"How do you know about the Hales?" Deaton kept his hand on Stiles' shoulder, guiding the younger man backwards until his knees knocked into the operating table and he sat down.  
  
"Does that mean you believe me?" Stiles looks hopeful.  
  
"It means I want to know how you know about werewolves; believing the rest may or may not follow." Deaton sits on a stool in front of Stiles, giving the boy a sense of comfort just his calm exterior, his voice coming in soft waves of warm orange tones.  
  
"I... Ummm..." Stiles draws in a deep breath. "A few years ago there was a fire and Derek and Laura and Peter were the only ones left and Peter killed Laura to become alpha and he bit Scott and we helped Derek kill him."  
  
"Okay," Deaton says slowly. "Let's start with the fire. Where was it?"  
  
"The Hale house. It was just a shell yesterday and today it was all shiny in an old house kind of way."  
  
" You went out there? Why?"  
  
"Things were odd and Derek's... Well he's not my friend in so many words but he's the alpha and..."  
  
"He's the alpha," Deaton repeats "He had a pack? Yesterday?" Stiles nods with a shrug tossed in for good measure. "Let's move to what happened yesterday. To you."  
  
"I don't know," Stiles grumbles in a frustrated tone. He pushes off of the table and begins pacing the floor. "I went to lunch with my dad and ended up going to see Derek because he wanted me to research something but he wasn't around so I left. And it was getting grey. Really grey... And fuzzy." Stiles winces as a sharp pain cuts through his train of thought.  
  
"Stiles..." Dr Deaton repeats his name a few times, orange growing bold as it cuts through the darkness lingering at the edge of his vision.  
  
"Some dude ran into me," Stiles continues shortly, closing his eyes tightly as a low rumbling outside threatens to overcome him with white noise. "At a stoplight. He had... blue eyes and..." Stiles rubbed at his eyes before opening them again and focusing on the vet. "And I woke up this morning feeling off and able to see colors anytime someone talks."  
  
"Synesthesia," Deaton nods, "could be a concussion."  
  
"I didn't hit my head," Stiles cuts him off, "and I really don't think a concussion would explain how I know everything I do. It doesn't explain how I know about hunters and wolfbane and how Derek's eyes glowed red yesterday and blue today." He stares at the vet as the other man considers what he's said. "I know that's mountain ash in that vial," he continues after a moment, walking over to a small set of powders on the counter. "and valerian root." He began picking up the different bottles one by one. "Mullein. Coltsfoot. Burdock. Umm.." He stared at the last bottle, fighting the urge to sniff it to figure out the pale brown leaves.  
  
"That one's tea," Deaton says, coming up behind him. "I prefer loose leaf. Makes me feel fancy. And you have effectively proved that you at least know some things you shouldn't."  
  
"Should!" Stiles insists. "You taught me."  
  
Deaton looks him over and shrugs. "I can see the potential."  
  
"Damn straight." Stiles grins despite his earlier moment of panic. He watches as Deaton places all of the bottles back in the correct order.  "So?" He interrupts after several silent minutes. "What happened to me?"  
  
"I have no idea," Deaton answers honestly. "I do believe that something happened to you that either altered the past, the future, or your perception thereof."  
  
"My perception? Something just made me think things have changed?"  
  
"It's possible," Deaton shrugs, "although that explanation does leave out the fact that you know a lot more than you should."  
  
"So what's real?" Stiles asks in nearly a whisper. Deaton stares at him for a moment before replying with a sigh.  
  
"For now, for the sake of your sanity and everyone around you," he pauses, "I think it's best to assume that, as of this moment, this is the only reality there is. There are a hundred different creatures and groups of people who can manipulate time and space and thoughts and memories. It's going to take time to research everything and figure out which one is affecting you. For now... focus on getting through tomorrow without poking any werewolves with sticks and we'll go from there."  
  
“I can’t... You can’t...” Stiles runs a hand over his face in exasperation.  “I can’t just pretend like I don’t know what I know or haven’t seen things or done things or...” He pauses and drops back down onto the operating table.  “I feel like a stranger inside my own head.  Like  
I’m watching all of the people I don’t actually know anymore live their lives while I’m stuck in neutral with no idea where the gear shift is.”  
  
“Welcome to adulthood,” Deaton says with a wan smile.  “We should make t shirts.”  
  
“Surprisingly sarcastic yet entirely unhelpful.” Stiles tone is annoyed but his face softens slightly.    
  
“Go home, Stiles,” Deaton says, pulling the boy to his feet and ushering him towards the door.  “Go to school tomorrow and come by here in the evening; Scott has the night off.”  Stiles nods once before stepping out into the poorly lit parking lot.  “And remember,” Deaton calls after him, “Do not poke anyone with sticks on your way over.”  
  
OpeningBell  
  
The cacophony that greets Stiles when he walks into school the next day is intense, muddying his vision as he tries to get to his locker when his eyes slitted and focused on the dirty tiled floor. He is still debating the likelihood of his dad giving him crap for skipping a second day in a row when a flash of blue catches his attention just before Scott's voice cuts through.  
  
"You're an asshole," the other boy says as he punches Stiles in the arm. "Are you okay? What's wrong? Why didn't you tell me you were ditching so I could have come with you?"  
  
"And people say I'm the one who talks all the time," Stiles mutters. He slams the locker closed and instantly regrets the loud clang.  
  
"What happened yesterday, dude?" Scott follows after Stiles and doesn't question when the two end up in the unused restroom on the second floor.  
  
"I just... Had a headache." The lie tints his world grey. "A bad one." Scott just watches him expectantly. "A really bad one?"  
  
"Was that a question?" Scott crosses his arm, mimicking stiles' posture.  
  
"Yes. I mean no. Not a question." Stiles shrugs his shoulders and is thankful for the first time in days that his world is backwards enough that his heartbeat can't give him away.  
  
"You know you can talk to me if you're freaking out about graduation and stuff, right? Like... You know the attacks are better when you have someone to help."  
  
"I'm not... I didn't..." Stiles bites his lip as Scott cocks his head at him. He wants to tell his friend the truth. Wants to tell him about werewolves and fires and thundering blue eyes. The last thought is wiped away as the first bell suddenly rings, sending Stiles to his knees as his world goes white.    
  
He can't hear Scott's voice anymore but he can see the flash of soft blue, feel his friend's hands grabbing at him.  The urge to throw up as another bell rings is enough to send him scrambling across the cold floor, blind to everything except grey pain. Another voice eventually joins Scott's, this one a soft flow of wine and stone cutting through the darkness.  
  
"You're ok," the woman says softly. "Just close your eyes and count your breaths." A finger taps against Stiles knee in a rhythm he can't help but focus on. With his eyes screwed tight he was able to ignore the sensory overload as his heart rate slowed to a crawl. " That's it," the woman whispers. The tapping stops and Stiles opens his eyes to find a strange woman knelt in front of him as Scott stands off to the side looking lost.  
  
"You're... Mrs. Hale," Stiles breathes out. The woman smiles widely, all sharp cheekbones and pretty grey eyes.  
  
"According to my marriage license, yes." Mrs hale straightens up, running a hand down her skirt before extending it towards the shaken boy. Stiles scrambles up without it  pushing away from the wall towards where Scott it standing without taking his eyes off the woman. "Stiles?" She tilts her head, eyebrows raising as Stiles feels his heart pound against his chest.  
  
"I don't feel well. I think I have a bug," he lies through his teeth. He knows the werewolf can tell but she simply nods, gesturing towards the door.  
  
"Let's get you to the nurse." Mrs hale sets a firm hand on Stiles' back and guides him out of the restroom towards the office. "You can go to class, Mr. McCall," she says over her shoulder. Scott catches Stiles' eye and shrugs before heading off to chemistry. The brunet glances over his shoulder twice before turning the corner.  
  
Stiles has almost accepted the idea of a plastic wrapped thermometer and call to his dad when Mrs Hale suddenly stops, ushering Stiles into an empty study hall instead.  
  
"I think you have something to tell me," she says as she turns Stiles to face her. The teenager stalls, running a hand over his short hair.  
  
"Umm.... Pre-graduation jitters?" He tries. Mrs Hale just raises an eyebrow again, the move so very much like the look Derek gives him on a regular basis that his breath catches in his chest for a moment.  
  
"I would almost buy that but something tells me you're lying."  
  
"Elevated heart rate?" Stiles asks before he can stop himself. He grimaces at himself as the look on Mrs Hales' face hardens.  
  
"That and the smell of mountain ash that's all over you." Stiles takes a step back as Mrs Hale takes a step forward.  
  
"Whatever you're thinking, I can guarantee you're wrong," Stiles insists, hands going up in front of him on instinct. "I work with Deaton. I mean... I don't work with him. He's teaching me."  
  
Mrs Hale steps forward, looking Stiles over again slowly. He forces out a slow breath as she nods and smiles at him.  
  
"I believe you," she says firmly, "but I don't trust you so if somehow you've lied and you bring pain to my family..."  
  
"I wouldn't!" Stiles insists. "I wouldn't. Consider me honest Abe. I cannot tell a lie."  
  
Mrs Hale rolls her eyes before stepping aside to allow stiles to leave.  She calls after just as the door swings closed.  
  
"That was George Washington."  
  
FrontalBoundries  
  
Stiles sighs as he slides out of his jeep. He'd spent most of the school day hiding out in the library and it was exhausting to be so quiet for so long. The sound and colors of birds singing nearby was almost welcome despite his alien surroundings. Walking towards the vet hospital, he pauses for a moment to watch a strange car roll slowly by. The windows are dark and the out of state plates are nothing if not suspicious. The car speeds up suddenly squealing around the corner so loud stiles feels a fresh wave of nausea.  
  
"That's the third time they've done that today." Stiles turns to find Deaton staring down the road. The vet looks at him for a moment before shrugging and heading back towards his office. Stiles follows close behind, pausing only to scritch under the chin of cat lying on the front desk. The cat shies away, leaping down and running out of sight as Stiles sighs.  
  
"I don't like me either," he confides to the empty desk. He twists his neck around slightly as another headache threatened at the base of his skull. Eventually he takes a deep breath and continues on towards where deaton has spread a stack of books over an exam table. "Any luck?"  
  
"Since you last texted me two hours ago? No." Deaton tosses a book towards Stiles and flips open his own. "We'll just have to work our way through the alphabet. I've gotten through a, b, and half of c."  
  
"Awesome," stiles mutters. "I always liked the letter D. Like dog and dude and Der... dude.”  
  
"Stiles." Deaton gives him a look and the teenager snaps his mouth closed, sniffing as he flips his book open.  He’s just getting into a chapter on The Dadga when the door to the clinic slams open and voices call out.  
  
“Stay here,” Deaton orders as he rushes out of the room.  Stiles nods before setting his book aside and counting all the way to five before following.  He peeks around the doorframe in time to see the vet usher a group of people into the other exam room.  Walking as softly as he can manage in  very squeaky shoes, Stiles gets within a few feet of the room when he hears a blood curdling yell.  
  
“Derek?!” He doesn’t even realize he’s in the room until two sets of glowing eyes, one red and one pale blue, are turned on him.  “Umm...”  
  
“Stiles,” Mrs. Hale growls.  The teenager watches as she forces herself to relax as the girl beside her does the same.  
  
“Hi,” he squeaks.  He’s about to say more when Derek cries out again, drawing his attention to where the other man is stretched out on the exam table.  Stiles takes a step forward only to have the younger of the two women cut him off.  
  
“He’s alright, Laura,” Deaton calls out.  The doctor is prodding at Derek’s shoulder, which is ripped open and riddled with blackened veins.  The Hale women both seem to switch gears at the same time, leaving the perceived threat that is Stiles and moving quickly to stand at Derek’s side.  Stiles follows, stepping around the werewolves to stand behind the doctor.  
  
“He was shot,” Mrs. Hales says, one hand reaching out to hold Derek’s hand as Deaton prods at the wound.  Stiles has to wonder just how hard Derek’s squeezing it as he writhes on the table.  “They were in the woods.  It’s supposed to be safe.”  The last part comes out more as a whisper.  
  
“We didn’t even hear them coming,” Laura adds.  Stiles glances up and has to look away again.  Derek’s sister is just like him, all dark, broody eyebrows and pale eyes that cut through a person.  
  
“You should get back to the others,” Deaton says as he straightens up.  Mrs. Hale looks at him incredulously as he cuts off Laura’s arguments.  “If there is a threat in Beacon Hills then the pack needs it’s strongest members close at hand.  Last time I checked, that would be you.”  He holds Mrs. Hale’s eye until the woman nods curtly and takes Laura’s hand.  
  
“I should stay,” the young woman insists.  It only takes a look from her mother to make her mouth snap shut and shoulders drop.    
  
“I’ll call as soon as I know something,” Deaton says, stepping around the table for a moment to guide the women out of the room.  Stiles watches them leave before taking a deep breath and moving to stand at Derek’s side.  
  
“What the hell, sourwolf?” Stiles couldn't help the way the words slip out of his mouth. Derek turns towards him on the table, glaring at him weakly.  
  
"Are you here for a reason?" Derek growls. He attempts to stand up only to drop back down again. Stiles steps forward without thinking and tries to grab Derek's arm only to have him pull away.  
  
"I'm not trying to hurt you," Stiles insists. He reaches forward again and Derek only flinches slightly as his hand touches the bloody sleeve of his shirt. Stiles stills for a moment before pressing further and reaching up to undo the first few buttons of the other man's shirt. He pulled open the shirt enough to see the blackened wound. "Ow..." Derek growls again as Stiles' finger catches the edge of the spreading darkness.  
  
"What did I tell you about poking werewolves?" Stiles jumps back as Deaton steps back into the room.  The doctor moves over to the exam table and takes Stiles position at Derek's side. He undoes the rest of the buttons and pulls Derek's shirt open. The black veins threading across his chest made stiles' breath catch in his chest.  
  
"I know what that is," he say calmly. Derek side eyes him as he moves closer. "In that place we're pretending doesn't exist, this happened." He reaches out and gestures along the thickest vein. "It's wolfsbane. It'll kill him if you can't fix it."  
  
"And just how did I do that?" deaton glances up at stiles.  
  
"You didn't."  Stiles backs away again and rubs a hand over his shorn hair.  “Derek did.  He made Scott steal a bullet laced with wolfsbane from the Argents, lit it on fire, and shoved the ash in the hole.”  
  
“Scott my tech, Scott?”  Deaton pauses for a moment before waving off further explanation and moving to the cabinets that line the walls.  Digging through several drawers, he finally straightens up and turns around brandishing a long wooden match.  “Since we don’t have time for you to explain to me why a hunting family that hasn’t been in town for more than six years had the right bullets handy for Scott to steal in the first place, we’ll do it the more painful way.”  
  
SomberOrSombre  
  
Stiles sits on the counter, head tipped back against the wall behind him, swinging his legs and focusing on the dull new moon colored thuds of his sneakers hitting the cabinets below him.  Deaton’s giant book of ‘D’ related spookies lays open across his lap but all he can focus on is the ‘D’ laid out on the operating table in front of him.  The vet’s quick cure had cleared away all of the blackening poison but Derek still hasn’t woken up despite steady breathing and a heartbeat Stiles swears he can almost make out in brief flashes of red so fast and dark they might as well be nothing at all. He’s almost ready to give in to the temptation to punch the other man in the jaw, sore knuckles be damned, when he notices dark eyebrows wiggling.  
  
The teenager glances through the open door towards Deaton’s office before sliding off of the counter and walking slowly over to where Derek is finally regaining consciousness.  He’s almost close enough to touch the man when a grumbly voice tinged with fire stops him.  
  
“You smell.”  Derek’s eyes are still closed but Stiles watches as the werewolf slowly flexes the hand closest to the now healed bullet wound.  
  
“You’re no violet,” Stiles counters, backing away again to lean against the cabinets, arms crossed over his chest.  Derek sits up slowly, twisting his neck back and forth before finally opening his eyes to stare directly at Stiles in a way that makes the teenager have to fight the urge to fidget more than normal.  
  
“You smell like someone else’s wolf.” Derek looks Stiles over before raising an eyebrow like he’s waiting for an explanation.  
  
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Stiles sighs, rubbing at his neck.  He glances up for a moment, almost certain the ceiling is leaking, but the cheap white tiles are dry and his neck, for all it feels dripped on, is dry as well.  Derek is still staring at him though, eyebrows still half way up his forehead.  “And despite that I’m going to tell you because I’m really tired and until a couple days ago you were... You.”  
  
“I’m still me,” Derek says slowly, grimacing slightly when he slides off the table and his bare feet hit the cold floor.  Stiles shrugs and pushes himself back up onto the counter.  The other man moves to sit beside him, close enough that Stiles doesn’t feel like he has to turn to face him.  
  
“I had a car accident the other day,” he starts, “and when I woke up the next morning, everything was changed.  It’s like the world went back to an old save point and no one decided to tell me.”  The two men sat quietly for awhile before Stiles continues.  “I know about werewolves.  And hunters.  And a few other nasty things I’d rather forget, seeing as how everyone else has.”  
  
“So the wolves...?” Stiles glances over at Derek and sees the other man still staring at the opposite wall.  
  
“A couple kids from school.  Scott.  Some oth...”  
  
“Me.”  It isn’t a question so Stiles decides to ignore the implications for the time being, focusing instead on the flash of color that accompanies Deaton’s chair being pushed back in the other room.    
  
“I’ve also now got this weird thing going on where I see noises on top the rest and it makes listening to other people eat in the cafeteria ten times worse than usual and since I normally want to strangle anyone with popcorn or salads or soup or...  It’s called misophonia.  The hating people who slurp food thing, not the color thing.”  He pauses for a breath that he can’t seem to catch when Derek reaches out and grabs his forearm.  
  
“What is it called when people like to avoid conversations?”  The older man turns towards Stiles just as Deaton reenters the room, flipping through a chart.  
  
Stiles jumps off of the counter, grabbing the large book beside him and heading for the door, not looking back.  “I gotta get home or my dad’s gonna have a cow.”  He waves vaguely in Deaton’s direction and ignores the cold place left on his arm from where Derek’s hand had been as he hurries away.  
  
LighteningBlue  
  
When Stiles wakes up in a cold sweat he can still hear the rolling thunder that had crashed through his dreams.  Rain lashes at the window and for a moment he’s lost to sleep again before the sun breaks through and he wakes fully to it’s pale light.  He stands up slowly and goes to the window, looking down at the dry yard still cracked from the summer’s drought.  
  
“The fuck is wrong with me?” he mutters, grinding the heels of his hands against his eyes for several long moments.  He held his breath until he felt like he would bust and then let it out slowly, focusing on the way his heart roaring in his ears mellowed out into nothing.  Dropping back down onto his bed, Stiles glances at the clock and grimaces when he realizes his alarm won’t go off for another hour.  He reaches under his bed for a moment before pulling out Deaton’s large research book and flipping it open to a random page.  
  
“D is for daemons and the Dagda and... Deinonychus and dodos and...” Sliding his finger along the page he pauses under an image of a Roman-style goddess wielding an apple and sly smile. “Discordia.  And Dinosaur and doofus and d...genies?” He stares at the next picture on the page, it’s pale figure lined with swirling tattoos that almost seemed to glow in the morning light.  
  
“The ‘d’ is silent.”  Stiles can feel his shoulders nearly reaching his ears as he jumps.  He looks up to find Derek lurking in his doorway, half smile creasing his face.  
  
“D is for douchbag,” Stiles says, tossing the book aside and sending silent waves of annoyance in Derek’s general direction.  The man only nods slightly before stepping further into the room, moving to claim Stiles’ desk chair.  
  
“And Deaton,” he says calmly, sitting forward slightly with his elbows on his knees.    
  
Stiles leans back further against his pillow and sighs.  “So much for pretending the world isn’t insane.”  
  
“I wanted to thank you,” Derek says softly, glancing down at his hands.  “Deaton told me that I wouldn’t be around if it wasn’t for you.” Stiles rubs his nose and pointedly stares over Derek’s shoulder when the other man looks up again.  “He also told me how.”  
  
“Do you...” Stiles hesitates, eyes flickering along the shelves above his desk, “Do you believe him?  Me?”  
  
“I believe that, no matter how you knew it, you saved me.”  Derek pauses until Stiles meets his eyes.  “I believe that something happened to you or to me or to... everyone that shouldn’t have.  You don’t smell right.”  
  
“As you’ve said to which I reply that the Axe commercials mentioned angels, not pissy werewolves.” Stiles gestures widely as he speaks and cannot help but watch as Derek’s pale eyes track the movement.  
  
“I’m not...” Derek growls under his breath and goes back to looking at his hands.  Stiles counts it as a win in his Annoy-Derek-Into-Silence category and waits for the other man to leave.  After one silent minute, the teenager gives up on patience.  
  
“What do you want, Derek?”    
  
The man pulls in a deep breath before looking up again.  “I want to help you.  Help you get back to m...” Derek hesitates and it’s in that moment that Stiles realizes how much he misses his Derek.  The one who never seemed to get flustered around Stiles and always knew more than he’d ever share.  It was infuriating but at least it was something he could wrap his head around.  
  
“Deaton has a lot of books to go through,” Derek eventually continues.  “How about I take ‘G’ for... gargoyle.”  
  
“Or ‘W’ for wo...oly mammoth.”  Stiles grins and Derek bites back a chuckle that flashes warm and rosy across Stiles eyes before drifting away.  
  
The brilliant blue ticking of Stiles’ alarm clock provides enough distraction that he’s still staring at the picture of the Genie-Silent-D some time later when Derek speaks up again.  “I wish I knew where to start to help you.”  
  
“Welcome to the club,” Stiles mutters, shaking his head and brushing away images of lightning and creepy eyes.  “All I can remember, aside from the fact that everything is different, is some dude ramming my rear end and waking up all fuzzy the next morning.”  Derek’s red flash of laughter is back and Stiles is so surprised by it that it takes him way longer than it should to figure out what he’s just said.  He looks up quickly to find Derek staring intently out the window, ears flushed and shoulders shaking with muffled burgundy tinted chuckles.  “Laugh it up, Mister Funnywolf.  When I get back to where I belong the first thing I’m doing is going over to your house and telling you what a dork I now know you are.”  
  
Derek’s shoulders still as he turns back to face Stiles.  “You go to my house a lot?”  For such a seemingly innocent question, Stiles finds himself hesitating at the look in Derek’s eyes.  
  
“Yes?” He draws the word out as Derek stares back at him.  “I mean...” he bawks, “Not really.  Maybe not a lot a lot.  Just every couple days or so.”  He pushes himself off of his bed quickly, trying to find some way to distract one or both of them.  
  
“And you know my family.”  This part wasn’t a question and Stiles can’t help the way his breath catches when Derek stands up with a rather serious look on his face.  The older man walks towards Stiles slowly.  “You know about the wolves and you smell like me and... Ozone and blood.”  
  
Stiles backs up to the wall as Derek gets closer, the other whispering as he steps into Stiles’ personal space.  “Who are you, to me?”  
  
“Nobody.  I’m just Stiles,” the teenager breathes out.  Derek’s eyes trail over his face before he draws back abruptly.  
  
“Your Dad’s home,” he offers as an explanation before heading towards the window.  Stiles doesn’t get a chance to say a word before the brunet is gone and the front door is opening.  
  
AdagioAdoring  
  
It was the last day of school and Stiles had found himself having to hide behind a dumpster to avoid being dragged somewhere by Scott.  He’s hurried straight to the animal hospital and is not surprised when he sees Derek already perched on Deaton’s counter when he walks in.  His lack of surprise doesn’t explain away the way he can feel his heart speed up in his chest when Derek glances up from the book he’s reading and the half-smile that Stiles’ is being to think as his crosses his face.  
  
“Did you know there’s a fairy called a wichtlein who lives in mines and warns miners they’re going to die?”  Derek looks back down at his book, still grinning slightly as Stiles pulls the large research book out of his backpack and tosses the bag aside before walking forward.  “They look like little old men with long beards?”  
  
Stiles hesitates for a moment before moving to lean against the table right next to the other man.  “Do they also wear pointy hats and sing overly repetitive songs?”  Derek snorts quietly before turning the page in the large book.  “You uh...  You’re going through ‘W’.”  The older man only shrugs before turning to the next page.  “What happened to your Gargoyles?”  
  
“I figured it would be best to work from one end of the alphabet and you were so fond of the ‘D’...”  Derek’s grin turns wolflike as he side eyes the teenager.  Stiles barely resists the urge to stick his tongue out, instead flipping the book in his hands open, the pages parting again at the djinn.  He doesn’t realize that Derek is talking again until the man elbows him lightly in the side.  
  
“Sorry,” Stiles mumbles, pulling himself away from the black and white image.  
  
“When did you find out?” Derek asks softly.  “About m... wolves?”  
  
“Umm...” Stiles rubs a hand over his head before answering, trying to find a way to skate past the truth without lying outright.  “There was a... rogue wolf.  Bit my friend Scott.  Someone had to help him and he has trust issues, much like someone else I know, so I started studying.  It’s pretty easy to put 2 and 2 together.”  Derek nods slowly but doesn’t interrupt as Stiles rambles on.  “After we figured out what happened then we figured out how to control it, with your help.  The, uh, rogue was eventually... put down.”  
  
“By whom?” Derek moves closer slightly and Stiles can feel the warmth of him anchoring him to the here and now.  
  
“You.”  He glances at Derek but the other man’s face is stoic.  “It was pretty much kill or be killed.  He had us all pretty much trapped and you went all big bad wolf on him.”  
  
Derek sighs, closing the book on his lap.  “I’m sorry you had to see that.”  
  
“What?!” Stiles ignores the way his voice squeaks in indignation.  “I’m not.  It was awesome!  You were all protective and vengeful and shit.”  
  
“I’m not...” Derek hesitates and Stiles leans against his arm slightly.”  
  
“You had to do it,” he assures him.  “If you hadn’t then I don’t know what P...prick head would have done.  Actually, that’s not true.  I know exactly what he would have done and no means no.”  
  
“He wanted to bite you.”  Stiles shrugs, his shoulder rubbing along the other man’s.  “Why did you say no?”  
  
“No offence, big guy, but I like me, even if me is pale and weak and kinda spastic.”  Stiles looks up and catches Derek’s eye.  
  
“I’m sure you aren’t weak, Stiles.”  Derek stares at Stiles, his eyes fluttering across his face.  “I know you aren’t.”  The teenager can feel himself flushing under the scrutiny and can’t help but push off the compliment.  
  
“I feel w...” he stutters, breath suddenly coming out in a harsh gasp.  “Wet.”  
  
“Stiles?” Derek slides off the table and moves in front of Stiles just as the brunet starts to tip forward.  
  
“I feel wet,” he gasps out, “and cold and...  Blue.”    
  
Derek catches him before he can hit the floor, his concerned pale eyes the last thing Stiles sees before everything fades away.  
  
ThunderousBlack  
  
Stiles tries to pull in a breath but his chest feels like it’s concave, a heavy pressure pushing against it like a brick over his heart.  He struggles to open his eyes and finally manages to flutter them slightly, catches glimpses of gray walls and tiny windows before his head drops forward again.  
  
“Back to sleep,” a voice hisses in his ear.  He’s about to protest but a flash of lightening and crash of thunder muffle his words.  There’s a flash of brilliant blue and he falls again.  
  
CutBack  
  
Stiles shudders back to consciousness with a strong arm wrapped around him to hold him together.  The cold of his nightmare seeps away as the warm body behind him shifts slightly before pulling away altogether as Stiles sits forward.  
  
“That was fun,” he croaks, pressing a hand to his head as he opens his eyes slowly in the brightly lit room.  
  
“Not so much,” a rough voice speaks from behind him.  He turns quickly and instantly regrets it as nausea rolls through him.  “Stiles?”  The teenager doesn’t fight the urge to press back into Derek’s warmth when the other man wraps an arm around his shoulders.  
  
“I’m okay,” he assures the other man.  “Kinda.”  He shakes his head slightly and tries to remember what had happened between the moment his eyes shut and when they opened again.  
  
“I should get Deaton,” Derek mumbles.  Stiles grabs at him before he can pull away and the man settles back down on the floor beside him.  
  
“I’m really okay,” Stiles repeats, “Really.  And I think I know what happened to me.”  Flashes of tattoos glowing and flowing across grey skin tumble through his mind.  “I think...”  He’s cut off when the bell over the office’s front desk rings loudly.  Both men turn towards the sound but Stiles attention stops as it crosses Derek’s face.  The other man looks suddenly pale, grey eyes gone wide as he stares towards the hallway.  
  
“Derek?” the teen nudges him.  The werewolf pushes him aside as he moves to his feet and is beside the half-open door before Stiles can blink.  He stands up more slowly and walks cautiously towards where Derek is frozen next to the door.  “Derek?”  The other man still doesn’t react so Stiles reaches out and is about to tap his shoulder when he finds himself being pushed towards the wall, wrist caught in a hold just verging on the edge of painful.  Derek is staring at him with slitted blue eyes.  
  
“It’s just me,” Stiles whispers.  “Just Stiles.”  Derek cocks his head for a moment before he inhales sharply through his nose and his eyes clear.  He still has a grip on Stiles’ wrist but he loosens it slightly and straightens up enough that his face is no longer inches away from Stiles’.  
  
“Stay quiet.” Derek’s voice is barely audible and Stiles is about to pull away from him when he hears a woman’s voice in the outer lobby.  
  
“...were my favorite animal doctor.” The woman yellowed words sound snide and Stiles half recognizes the voice.  
  
“Is this a social call,” Deaton questions calmly in the other room, “or should I look forward to the rest of the family stopping by?”  
  
“Oh god.”  The words are out before Stiles can stop them and Derek quickly covers his mouth with his broad palm.  They’re still standing tight together next to the crack in the door but all Stiles can focus on is the way Derek’s eyes dart from the hallway to where his hand is covering Stiles’ lips.  His very dry lips that he’s now fighting the urge to lick as warm skin presses over them.  
  
“Oh I’m just passing through,” the woman explains breezily.  “Figured someone should check on the local wildlife and make sure there aren’t any... rabid beasts around.”  
  
“There hasn’t been a case of rabies within 200 miles of here in almost twenty years.”  Deaton’s voice never wavers.  
  
“Well maybe I just wanted to visit old friends.  See how they’re getting along.  Check in on the kids.”  
  
Stiles can feel the growl building in Derek’s chest and reaches up absently to wrap his own hand around the older man’s wrist, pulling his hand lightly away from his mouth.  
  
“I know.” His words are little more than a deep breath but he knows Derek can hear him perfectly.  The man takes a step backwards but Stiles keeps a firm hold on his wrist and doesn’t miss the way Derek reciprocates.  “One word.  Kate.”  Derek nods slightly, eyes locked on Stiles’ as the muscle of his jaw tightens and loosens with every word uttered outside their room.  
  
“You should probably go now,” Deaton is saying.  “They won’t be thrilled with you being back in town and we both know what would happen.  The agreement that was made.”  
  
“No one is going to know,” Kate stresses.  “I told you, I’m just driving through.”  
  
“For the past several days?” Deaton questions.  “Repeatedly?”  
  
“She’s the one who’s been driving around the office,” Stiles assumes.  Derek responds so quietly he almost misses it.  
  
“Patchouli.  It can mask almost any smell, even a rat’s.”  Stiles can’t help the slight grin at the way Derek’s face twists in distaste.  
  
“I guess you’re not a fan of hippies then.”  Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles feels a sense of success as the other man’s shoulders relax slightly despite everything.  “Or hipsters, which are likes hippies only with a higher douche factor.” The other man drops his head but Stiles can make out the edge of his smile even as Kate continues hissing in the lobby.  
  
“Someone needs to keep an eye on the pack of beasts.”  Derek’s grip tightens again.  “But, like I said, just passing through, checking up from afar, seeing how everyone’s... developed.”  
  
“You have a day and then the next time I see you lurking around I will contact the Council.”  Deaton’s voice has gone from mellow to firm in an instant and it reminds Stiles that the mild-mannered vet is a facade covering something much deeper.  
  
“I don’t even need that long.”  Kate’s final words seem to echo as they listen to the bell over the front door tinkle merrily.  
  
Derek keeps his eyes on the floor, breath coming out in shallow rasps.  Stiles is about to say something when he hears the man whisper.  
  
“I was a couple of years younger than you,” he starts softly, “and she was beautiful.  I had no idea there were hunters in Beacon Hills, let alone one who was so...”  
  
“Fucked,” Stiles supplies as Derek hesitates.  “Kate Argent was fucked up in the head.”  
  
“Yea,” Derek agrees, still not looking up.  “And so was I.  I didn’t even think, she was so firmly inside my head.  It almost cost me everything.”  
  
“What...?” Stiles clears his throat and starts again.  “What did she do?”  
  
“We had arranged to meet up the night of the Wolf Moon.  I was going to ask her to accept the bite the next night with all of the family gathered and...” Derek stops again and Stiles finds himself sweeping his thumb along the other man’s wrist.  “I got a flat tire.” Derek laughs in the way people do whenever they’d rather cry.    
  
“I got a flat tire and called Laura because I didn’t know what else to do.  I wasn’t planning on telling her about Kate until the next morning but it all came spilling out.  She’d smacked me in the head and forced me into her car.  We got to the house in time to see men lurking around, the smell of gasoline blanking out everything else.”  Derek finally looks up and Stiles’ heart clenches in his chest at the openness in the other man’s eyes.    
  
“She was going to kill them,” he admits softly.  “She was going to burn and bury them and I lead her straight to them.  If I hadn’t gotten that flat then...”  
  
“I know.”  Stiles swallows past the lump that’s lodged itself in his throat.  “I know exactly what would have happened.”  
  
“An agreement was made between my parents and the Argents that Kate was to never return to Beacon Hills.” Derek’s grip tightens again around Stiles wrist and then he let’s go completely, stepping back and putting space between them.  Stiles isn’t as quick to release the other man.  
  
“What are you going to do, Derek?” he questions as he takes a step forward to maintain contact.  Derek only shakes his head, looking out again towards the front of the office.  “Hey,” Stiles tugs on his wrist lightly, “Derek.  What are you going to do?”  
  
“I’m giving her a day,” Derek replies softly, “And then I’m going to kill her.”  
  
WornAndWondering  
  
“A djinn?” Deaton cocks his head as Stiles explains to him his little excursion into reality.  
  
“I think so,” the teen nods, “I mean, I had about five seconds to see anything but it matches up with your lovely book of creepy and crawly.”  Stiles is leaning against his favorite counter with Derek at his side but the other man is totally removed from the conversation.  
  
“A djinn could alter your perception of reality,” Deaton allows, “And the synesthesia could be some sort of side effect of his power, given your natural talents.”  
  
“Well, yea...” Stiles preens slightly before Deaton’s look reminds him on the pressing concerns.  “Soo... Djinn.  How do we stop it from doing what we’re doing?”  
  
“I don’t know that we can.”  Deaton turns and grabs the book sitting on the table behind him, flipping it open to the appropriate page.  “Even if we could gather up the necessary reagents, which I doubt happening in the near future, tracking him down and killing him from this side isn’t likely to do anything at all.”  
  
“So I’m stuck?” Stiles droops back and rubs a hand over his face.  “I just want to get back to reality.”  
  
“For all intents and purposes, this is as real as it gets.”  Stiles snorts at Deaton’s calm tone.  “Things that happen here happen.  A papercut here hurts just as much.  Emotions are just as strong.  Considering the fact that you could be wrong about the djinn...”  
  
“I’m not...” Stiles looks up but Deaton shushes him quickly.  
  
“Could be wrong.  You cannot discount anything thought or felt here because you’re so focused on what’s happening there.  The best way to help yourself outside is to keep living.”  Deaton’s eyes flash between Stiles and Derek quickly and the teenager can’t help but feel there’s something going unsaid that he’s not a part of.  The vet tucks the book under his arm and heads towards the door leading to his personal office.  “I’ll make some calls,” he says before disappearing behind the closed door.  
  
Stiles stands in stunned silence for a while, Derek’s steady breathing next to him the only thing he can seem to focus on for any length of time.  
  
“FUCK!” he shouts after several minutes have ticked by.  The man beside him doesn’t even flinch at his outburst.  Stiles slides down to the floor and pulls his knees to his chest, hiding his head against them.  He feels Derek drop down next to him, the older man’s body pressing against his side like a firewall, steady and unbreachable.  
  
“He’ll help you,” Derek says after awhile, voice soft and sure.  Stiles turns his head and rests it against his knees with his eyes locked on the other man’s.  
  
“Deaton said...”  Derek cuts him off.  
  
“Not Deaton.  Derek.  Your Derek.”  
  
“He’s not mine,” Stiles sighs, looking past Derek towards the nearby cabinet.  “He’s...”  
  
“Probably looking for you right now,” Derek cuts in.  Stiles snorts in disbelief and chews on his lip for a moment.  
  
“He doesn’t even like me,” he says eventually.  “He thinks I’m annoying.”  
  
“Well, you are.” Stiles looks back at Derek to find the other man grinning at him.  “But that doesn’t change the fact that, if you spend as much time with him as it seems, he does like you.  Probably more than you realize.”  The words are delivered to the wall behind Stiles and the teenager notices how Derek’s ears tinge red at the admission.  
  
“Are you... Do you...”  Stiles sits up straight and forces Derek to meet his eyes.  “Seriously?!  You like me and you’re still helping me leave here?”  The other man rolls his eyes and stands up, walking towards the door as Stiles gawks after him.  
  
“I’ll help you get home,” Derek pauses at the door and turns back with such an open look on his face that Stiles can’t breathe.  “Because that’s where you belong.  Trying to keep you here would be selfish.”  
  
“Maybe I like selfish,” Stiles whispers to the empty room after Derek’s left.  
  
PredicateAndProfess  
  
Stiles drags himself into his room late in the evening and lets out a very manly shriek when a dark figure steps out of the shadows.  
  
“Jesus Mary and Saint Mother Fucker, dude!” Stiles tosses his bag at Scott as his friend collapses on his bed laughing.  
  
“You totally deserved that,” Scott snickers, pushing Stiles’ bag off to the floor as the other teenager collapses onto the chair next to his desk.  Stiles pulls a face at him before he starts twisting the chair back and forth.  He chews on his fingernail for a moment before registering what his friend has just said.  
  
“Why did I deserve that, exactly?”    
  
Scott shrugs.  “Because you’ve been avoiding me all week and didn’t tell me you were dating Derek Hale.”  
  
“I haven’t been...d..d...” Stiles stutters to a stop and stares at Scott with his mouth dropped open wide.  “I’m not dating Derek?!”  
  
“Meh,” Scott picks at a loose thread at his knee.  “You’ve gone all disapearro this week after being sick and when I called the clinic a this afternoon to see if Deaton would let me off early tomorrow to have dinner with my mom he told me that I could have the whole day off since you and Derek were helping him with a project.”  
  
“How does that translate to us dating in your warped little brain?”  Stiles brings his fingers to his temples and starts grinding them into his temples in slow circles.  “I’m not... We’re not...  I’m just helping Deaton.  With strays.  Animals... stray animals.”  
  
“Wow...” Scott smirks at Stiles.  “I’ve never seen your mouth open that wide without a handful of curly fries heading towards it.”  
  
“You’re a douche.” Stiles shuts his mouth with a click.  
  
“That was awesome and you’re just mad that you were finally the butt of a joke.”  Scott stretches out over the bed before sitting up again and moving to his feet.  “Seriously though, we’re cool right?”  
  
“Yea,” Stiles assures him, standing as well.  He’s about to step forward when a flash of grey from his periphery distracts him.  “Totally,” he mumbles.  “Just had a lot on my mind.”  
  
“I know man.”  Scotts smile widely before stepping forward to wrap an arm around Stiles.  The teen gives his friend a crooked grin before punching him in the shoulder.  “Ha!”  
  
“Dooooooooooouche!” Stiles hisses at him, pushing him away.  
  
“Mom has tomorrow night off and she says, and I quote, ‘If Stiles and his father aren’t over here by 6:30 then Beacon Hills will need a new sheriff and you will need a new friend.  Preferably one who doesn’t have a key to my house.’”  Stiles grins along with his friend and then his smile drops again.  
  
“What do you mean new friend?” He side eyes Scott while the other teen wiggles his fingers and heads towards the door.  “What do you mean new friend?” he calls after the other boy.  “Scott!”  
  
“Don’t be late!” The front closes loudly and Stiles is left wincing in his bedroom at the bright white that flashed in front of his eyes.  He opens one eye at a time just as a muffled grey comes from the direction of his window.  “One benefit of this stupid color thing is that at least you can’t sneak up on me anymore.”  
  
He walks over to his bed and drops down onto it just as Derek slides the window open more and slips through it.  “Is that something I do a lot?” the man asks, walking over to stand just out of reach of where Stiles is now sitting.  “Sneak in through windows in the dark of night.”  
  
“Sometimes it’s locker rooms in the bright of day,” Stiles snorts.  Derek just stares down at him in a way that makes the teen begin to feel frazzled.  “What are you doing here?” he croaks out.  Derek cocks his head, likely listening to Stiles’ heart for a moment before answering.  
  
“Being selfish.” Stiles opens his mouth and then closes it again as Derek takes a small step forward, hands clenching at his sides.  “I don’t want to help you.  I don’t want you to leave.  But I don’t want you to stay either.”  
  
“Well that clears things up.” Stiles pulls his feet up onto the bed and wraps his arms around his knees.  “Please continue pontificating.”  
  
“Damnit, Stiles,” Derek growls, glancing at the floor before meeting Stiles’ eyes again.  “I like you being here.  I... trust you.”  Derek’s jaw tightens around the words and it’s all Stiles can do not to interrupt.  “And I don’t know why.  But that’s why you need to go back.”  
  
“Clear as mud,” Stiles says softly.  A smile flirts with the corner of Derek’s mouth long enough for Stiles to feel his chest tighten and release again.  
  
“Whatever I’m feeling now, whatever is happening here...  I cannot imagine what’s going on out there.” Derek rubs a hand along his neck for a moment and Stiles watches it’s journey with rapt attention.  “You need to go back because he needs you more than I do.”  
  
“He doesn’t want me,” Stiles says slowly.  “He doesn’t feel whatever it is you’re feeling.”  Derek only shakes his head slowly, stepping closer again.  
  
“He has to.”  Stiles opens his mouth to rebut the other man only to have lips crash into his as Derek leans forward into a harsh kiss that’s over before Sitles can even think of reciprocating.  The other man straightens up again stiffly, backing towards the window with slow, even steps.    
  
“He has to because otherwise I won’t ever let you go.  Even if it kills us both.”  
  
Stiles watches as Derek disappears out the window again, mouth tingling and heart racing.  He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and can’t help but wonder about what the other man had said, whether his Derek would have done the same thing.  Whether his Derek would also taste of salt and caramels.  With a groan he drops back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling until his eyes won’t stay open any longer.  
  
MercutioWasRight  
  
Stiles stands off to the side of the veterinary clinic, chewing on his thumb and watching cars come and go until the right one pulls into the lot.  He’s near it before the engine turns off and doesn’t even let Derek close the door before he’s crowding into his personal space.  
  
“You’re. An. Asshole.” He pokes at the other man’s chest to emphasize each word.  
  
“Ow.” Derek grabs his finger.  “Hi, Stiles.  How are you, Stiles?”  Stiles rips his hand free and pokes the man one last time.  
  
“You’re an asshole and I’m fine, thanks,” he hisses back.  “Actually, no I’m not because... wait for it... You’re an ASSHOLE!”  Derek moves quickly, slapping one hand over Stiles’ mouth and twisting them so that the teenager is the one crowded against a car.  
  
“I got that part,” Derek whispers in a deadly calm voice.  “Let’s move on from there.”  
  
“Fine,” Stiles replies after the other man drops his hand, “How about what the Hell were you thinking last night?”  Derek gives a pained look as an older woman walking past the parking lot looks their way.  He grabs Stiles by the wrist and pulls him closer to the fence that lines the lot, shielding them behind low hanging branches.  Derek moves to speak but this time Stiles is the one covering the other man’s mouth.  
  
“You come into my room, which, granted, par for the course, and then you tell me that you have feelings for me and kiss me before disappearing into the night like Count Chocula.”  Stiles glares at Derek.  “Oh! And let’s not forget that you told me YOU HAD FEELINGS FOR ME.  And then disappeared.”  The teen drops his hand as he speaks to gesture wildly.  
  
“Like Count Chocula,” Derek repeats with a slight grin.  
  
“You know what I mean,” Stiles bites back.  Derek only stares back at him before the teen finally takes a deep breath.  “It’s not fair,” he insists.  “You can’t just do that to a person.”  
  
“Stiles, I didn’t... I’m sorry.” Derek tries to step away but Stiles follows.  
  
“You’re not allowed to apologize for it either.”  He grabs for Derek’s elbow to keep the other man from slipping away.  
  
“Don’t.”  The word is so soft that Stiles barely hears it.  “Please don’t.”  
  
“Derek, I can’t forget that happened.  I don’t even want to.  Like, ever.  Seriously.”  Derek just stares at the ground, his pale eyes in shadows.  “This is the first time I’ve ever... wanted... anything.”  
  
“Don’t,” Derek repeats again.  “You can’t.”  Stiles starts to argue but Derek finally looks up to meet his eyes and the look in them is so heartbroken that Stiles can’t go on.  “You can’t stay here, with me.  It’s not even your choice and it sure as hell isn’t my choice.  Somewhere, outside, he’s looking for you.”  Stiles opens his mouth to argue but Derek just presses on.  “He is because that’s what I would be doing and you can’t tell me that we’re so different that he’d let you rot away, feelings or no.”  
  
“But I want the feelings,” Stiles insists lamely.  Derek bites back a broken sound before moving forward and wrapping his arms about the teen.  
  
“You have to trust me,” the man whispers into Stiles’ ear.  “You have to trust in him.  Can you do that for me?”  Stiles nods lamely against Derek’s shoulder, his own hands coming up to clutch at the man’s shirt.  “You promise me to have faith in him and I...” He draws back for a moment and Stiles meets his eyes.  “I promise not to disappear.”  
  
“I feel like I should be quoting Titanic of something.”  Derek’s smile is nearly blinding as he steps back in.  
  
The next kiss is better than the first if only because Stiles is an active participant.  He allows Derek to press him back against the car, arms coming up to circle the man’s waist as Derek leans in for the first tentative brush of lips.  Stiles is having none of it though, pressing forward slightly as Derek pulls away to claim his mouth, breathing harshly out of his nose as their lips crash together.  One of Derek’s long fingered hands comes up to cradle Stiles’ jaw while the other wraps around the teen’s back to keep him pressed against Derek’s body.  Tongues quickly become involved and Stiles can only focus on the slick slide of mouths and thudding blood red of his heartbeat in his ears.  
  
He can’t help the whine that slips out when Derek pulls away again.  The older man chuckles at him and presses him back against the car when he tries to follow again.  
  
“Come on, Rose,” Derek says with a grin.  Stiles blinks at him for a moment before his laughter brays out across the parking lot.  He allows Derek to tug him towards the clinic, neither seeing the flash of blonde hair ducking around the fence.  
  
DunDunDun  
  
A sharp white tapping is what finally rouses Stiles, the teenager groaning as his eyes slowly open.  He glances around and inhales sharply as he takes in familiar cement walls and tiny windows.  The only thing that makes him question which reality he’s in is the fact that the ever present thunderstorm from out there is not raging against the window pane.  He raises his head and grimaces as the pain throbbing through his skull reminds him of how he got there in the first place.    
  
Yellow laugh, sharp whack, Stiles go bye-bye.  
  
The teen pulls at the ropes that pull his hands to an unnatural angle behind his back and nearly chokes on his tongue when he hears the laugh again.  
  
“Oh, please,” his captor says as she rounds the chair to enter his field of vision.  “I’ve been tying knots for a long time, kid.  For pain and pleasure.”  Stiles sneers in Kate’s face as she smirks at him.  
  
“Eww,” he bites out.  The blonde only winks at him before heading towards a table nearby laden with weaponry.  She picks up a large handgun and runs her fingers along the length of the barrel in a move that would be seductive if it didn’t make Stiles so nauseous.  
  
“You’re adorable,” Kate says over her shoulder as she sets out various guns.  “I might have to keep you around after this.”  
  
“I’m not a big fan of being held hostage.”  Stiles pulled at the ropes binding him again, feeling them give slightly as his narrow wrists.  They are originally been further up his forearms and loosened as they slid down.  
  
“Hostage implies ransom.”  Kate turns to sit on the edge of the table, gun magazine in hand.  “I prefer the word bait.  It’s the best way to trap an animal.”  
  
“Derek is not an animal.”  The blonde laughs as she stands and tucks the gun into her waistband, magazine and bullets in hand to be loaded.  She walks slowly back towards Stiles, stopping just a foot or so away from him with a cruel smile cutting across her face.  
  
“Do you know the story of Fenrir?” Kate asks as she slowly slides bullets into the gun’s magazine.  “He was a wolf, larger and stronger than any in his pack.  One day, a troll attacked and only Fenrir survived, his entire family ripped to shreds around him.” Stiles pulls quietly against the ropes as Kate’s words tinged his world a sickly shade of yellow.  “The gods come and reveal that they sent the troll to kill Fenrir.  You see...” she pauses long enough to slip the magazine into the gun with a loud click, “Odin can see the future and in it he saw Fenrir destroying everything.  They had to lock Fenrir deep underground because otherwise the world would come to an end.”  
  
“Is there a point to this really lame villainous monologue?”  Stiles talks loudly, partially to signal anyone nearby that might be able to hear and partially to cover the sound of the ropes sliding along his wrists.  “Because if you’re just wanting to discuss Norse mythology then I’d rather talk about that time Loki fucked a horse.”  
  
The sound of Kate backhanding him echoes through the room.  The answering growl is nearly deafening.  
  
“Time to play.”  Stiles’ stomach turns at the look on Kate’s face as she takes a step back and glances around.  
  
Another growl echoes through the room, seeming to come from the opposite side of the warehouse.  This time Stiles realizes that the growls are flaring up differently, one a fire red and the other deeper like the dusty bottle of merlot hidden in the kitchen cabinet back home.  
  
“You’re in trouble,” Stiles hisses at Kate.  The blonde glares at him for a moment before both wolves growl at the same time and she realizes the meaning behind his words.  “Not such an effective trap now, is it?”  
  
Kate glances around and when her eyes meet Stiles’ her face is tight but her eyes still glint victorious in the halflight.  “You’d be surprised.”  With those words and a quick gesture, two men step out of the shadows, large rifles in hand.  Kate leans in, resting one hand on the back of the chair Stiles is still struggling to get out of.  She whispers in his ear, “I never said how many animals I was trying to catch.”  
  
She straightens back up and steps back to stand just in front of her henchmen.  Her calm smile belies the tension radiating off of her, the way her shoulders are held back, the way her fingers flex around the gun in her hand.  
  
“Consider this an official warning,” Mrs Hale’s voice rings out from somewhere behind Stiles.  “As the matriarch of this area, I am allowing you the chance to leave, peacefully, with no one else getting involved.”  
  
“And what if I don’t want to leave?  I’ve always been fond of the... scenery here.” Kate taunts.  Stiles can see the way her eyes flick back and forth and assumes that Derek and his mother are approaching from opposite corners.  The teen can hear the growl bouncing around Derek’s chest as he moves closer.  
  
“An agreement was made,” Mrs Hale was saying.  “You deserved death for what you attempted to do all those years ago but out of respect for your family and a wish for nothing but peace, we acquiesced to your father’s request to spare you.”  
  
“What a vocabulary you beasts have developed.”  Kate idly fingers her gun, eyes locked over Stiles head to where the teen can hear Derek’s breathing.  “It’s almost enough to fool people into thinking you’re not vicious beasts.  Almost.”  
  
“This is your last chance, Kate,” Derek growls.  
  
“Sorry, sweetheart.  I never was a fan of rules and ultimatums.”  It seems the words were a single of some sort because the men on either side of Kate raise their guns and take aim.  Stiles can barely breath without wanting to gag on fear.  He tugs at the ropes around his wrists even more as he hears Derek and his mother snarl behind him, obviously shifting in the face of the threat.  
  
Stiles has to close his eyes tight as the first bullet is fired, the sharp burst of color so bright it’s nearly blinding as the sound ricochets off of the surrounding walls.  A rush of air beside him is the only warning he has before his chair is quickly relocated in the rear of the room.  He keeps his eyes closed against the snarls and gunshots and keeps working at his bonds until, finally, something gives.  
  
RedAndBlack  
  
Mrs Hale stands over the two prone bodies of Kate’s helpers as Derek stands toe to toe with the blond hunter.  Stiles is finally able to open his eyes in time to see Kate backing towards him, gun held loosely at her side.  The ropes drop past his raw wrists just as she comes to a stop a few short feet away.  
  
“It’s done,” Derek growls at her, eyes glowing harshly.  
  
“I don’t know about that,” Kate says, turning slightly so that her gun hand is facing Stiles.  “I think it’s far from done.”  Derek steps forward but Kate raises the gun slightly in response and stops him in his tracks.  “My how history repeats itself.”  
  
“Leave him out of this.”  Stiles bites his tongue to keep quiet as he slips forward on his chair slightly.    
  
“I would, dear, but you are refusing to be put down like a good puppy so I’m left with no choice.”  Kate raises the gun more, still not taking her eyes off of Derek.  The brunet’s jaw clenches in response and Stiles can see the way the fight fades out of his eyes, leaving them pale and shuttered.  The man opens his mouth but Kate cuts him off before he can say a word.  
  
“His blood with be on your hands,” she says calmly, “unless you do the right thing.”  
  
“Derek!” Mrs Hale calls out from where she’s restraining one of the men who’s woken up.  Derek ignores his mother, dropping to his knees in front of Kate with his chin held up in defiance.  
  
“You’re not going to get out of here alive,” he says in a dangerously quiet tone.  
  
“Honestly?  I don’t even care anymore.”  Kate turns the gun on Derek and Stiles can see her hand start to clench just as he pushes himself out of his chair, launching himself at her.    
  
The shot rings out and everything is white hot.  
  
Stiles can hear Derek’s cry of agony even as he falls with Kate held against him.  The woman rolls away quickly but Derek is on her before she can get to her feet, slamming her head off of the concrete before turning his attention to where Stiles is sitting in a daze.  
  
“Not my brightest idea,” Stiles grimaces.  Derek is by his side in an instant, hands moving over Stiles’ chest, sliding in the warmth that’s flowing over him.  
  
“Oh god,” the man chokes out.  Stiles just smiles up at him, bringing a bloodied hand up to run a finger along his tight jaw.  
  
“It’s okay,” the teenager insists.  “I’m okay.”  
  
“You’re not.  You’re really not.”  Derek mirrors Stiles’ move, cradling his head on his knees.  
  
“I think I am,” Stiles argues, forcing out each word.  “I think... I’ll never let go, Ja...”  Derek leans over him and it’s the last thing Stiles sees as everything goes a thunderous black.  
  
MourningGlory  
  
Stiles can feel a hand running along his arm but in the darkness that’s surrounding him it barely registers.  “Please wake up.”  Waves crest over Stiles and he feels like he’s drowning each time he draws in a breath.  “God, Stiles, please.”  Slim fingers turn Stiles’ head back and forth and he tries in vain to pull away from them and escape back into unconsciousness.  “You have to wake up or... STILES!”  
  
The teen finally gives into peer pressure and forces his eyes open slightly, the skin of his eyelids feeling drawn and tight.  Scott is staring up at him and it takes several breaths before Stiles realizes that he’s hanging from something with his toes barely sliding along the floor.  He tries to wiggle his fingers high above his head but his entire body feels numb.  
  
“Thank god,” Scott breathes out when he sees Stiles moving around.  “Just hang in there.”  Stiles rolls his eyes sleepily at his friend’s unintentional pun.  
  
“Fail,” he croaks out.  Scott pats his shoulder and then grimaces in companionship as Stiles hisses, his entire body wracked with pain from the slight touch.  
  
“I need three hands to get you down,” Scott apologizes.  “But Derek should be here any minute.”  
  
“Derek...” Stiles croaks.  Scott nods, looking past Stiles distractedly.  
  
“He hasn’t stopped hunting you down since your Dad told us you never came home,” Scott whispers.  The fact that his friend is so terrible at being a werewolf makes Stiles grin despite feeling wrung out.  “Him and Deaton are taking care of the D...Jizzi...?”  
  
“Djinn,” Stiles corrects.  “The D is silent.”  The words slip past Stiles’ lips so quickly it takes him a moment to realize why they make his chest tight.  He shakes his head to clear it again as a flash of lightning illuminates the room more.  “How long?”  
  
“Two days,” Scott supplies, “two days and I’m not sure what would have happened if Derek hadn’t tracked you down in time.”  Stiles drew in a sharp breath as he felt a sliding pain in his arm.  His friend smiled apologetically and held up a long IV needle.  
  
“Gross.” Stiles closed his eyes again for a minute and opened them to find Derek Hale staring at him with cold eyes.  
  
“This is going to hurt.”  The other man’s words were soft and Stiles didn’t have a chance to process them before the brunets arms wrapped around his waist, lifting him entirely off of the floor.  Stiles cried out as his arms finally went slack, strained muscles clenching as the weight came off of them.  He bit back a few choice words, instead giving into the compulsion to drop his head onto Derek’s shoulder.  The other man tightened his grip slightly but gave no sign that he minded in that place and time.  
  
Stiles could hear voices around them and felt Scott finally release the cuffs that held him arms up.  All of his weight dropped onto Derek but the man didn’t even flinch, taking several steps backwards until he could set Stiles gently onto a nearby table.  The teen can’t help but feel like the other’s hands lingered longer than absolutely necessary before he stepped back to allow room for Dr. Deaton to step forward.  The vet forced Stiles’ eyes open, shining a bright into that made Stiles wince.  
  
“You’re lucky he was so stubborn,” Deaton was saying as he turned Stiles’ head one way and then another.  “Another few hours and I don’t know if we would have been on time.”  
  
“Scott’s my best friend,” Stiles explains.  Deaton just smiles grimly down at him and shakes his head slightly.  
  
“Not Scott.”  The vet arches an eyebrow before stepping back.  He turns towards someone that Stiles can’t see and nods.  “He’ll be okay.  You can call them in.”  
  
“Shame the suspect got away.”  Stiles’ dad is using his official voice and Stiles doesn’t try to fight back the relief that sparks through him in the dark room.  
  
“Shame that,” Deaton agrees, a smile on his face.  
  
Overtime  
  
“Hell no.”  Stiles crosses his arms, belatedly remembering the IV still in his hand.  He grimaces but refuses to break the staring contest between himself and his dad.  
  
“Like you have a choice in the matter.”  His dad crosses his arms in a much better fashion.  
  
“A week is...” Stiles flounders.  
  
“Just what the doctor ordered,” the Sheriff finishes.  Stiles manfully resists the urge to point out that Deaton’s a vet and instead turns his attention towards Ms. McCall who is standing next to his dad at the end of the bed, chart in hand.  
  
“Don’t even think about it,” the nurse says firmly.  “You need at least a week of rest after what you went through and we all know you won’t get any at all if I let you go home.”  
  
Stiles pulls and face and turns toward the window, relishing the sunshine streaming through it.  His dad steps forward to run a hand over his shorn hair, pausing at the base of his skull to give it a light squeeze.  
  
“For me?” his dad asks softly.  Stiles turns back to him and sighs at the earnest look on the man’s face.  He’s been pointedly avoiding imagining what his dad had been through over the last couple days but the older man’s exhaustion is clear.  Stiles nods slightly and accepts the kiss his dad presses against his forehead.  
  
The adults have a quick, quiet conversation over Stiles’ head while the teen takes in the dull hospital walls.  Another squeeze and his dad leaves, straightening his gun belt as he goes.  Mrs McCall smiles at Stiles one last time before following and leaving the brunet alone with his thoughts.  
  
Everything jumbles around his brain as he tries to sort out his real memories from the ones the Djinn had fed to him.  Deaton had explained that the Djinn had given him a world Stiles would want to stay in but the teen refuses to believe that.  He’d want a world where his mom was alive and his dad was happy and...  His thoughts are cut off as a shadow cuts across his face.  
  
“Still alive and not kidnapped?” Derek’s face is hard but Stiles remembers what both Deaton and Scott had implied about the man’s reaction to Stiles being missing.  
  
“Last I checked.” Stiles sits up in bed slightly as Derek takes a step into the room, shoulders obviously tense under his dark t-shirt.  He tries to rectify the Derek he’d gotten to know in the dream world with the statue currently staring at him.  
“Good,” Derek says gruffly.  “Try to keep it that way for at least a couple of weeks.  I have things to do that don’t include chasing after stupid teenagers.”  
  
“Well fuck you very much,” Stiles snaps.  He can’t seem to help the flare of anger he feels at Derek obvious lack of giving a shit.  The older man only snorts at him, his face crease in a imitation of a smile.  It hurts Stiles even more than the brush off but he can’t bring himself to acknowledge the ache.  
  
“Good to know you’ll never change,” Derek says cooly.  He turns to leave and Stiles calls after him, grunting at the effort it takes to sit up further.  
  
“Sorry!”  Derek turns slowly and cocks his head in Stiles’ direction.  “I’m sorry,” the teen repeats.  “It’s been a long couple of days for you but it was over a week for me and I...” he stumbles over his words as Derek steps closer again.  Stiles wonders just how loudly his heart is beating.  “You helped me.”  
  
“Of course I...” Stiles cut the older man off.  
  
“Over there, in the dream.” Stiles runs a hand along his forehead as he tries to find the right words.  “You... helped.  You kept me from going insane.”  
  
“Nice change of pace,” Derek smirks and Stiles huffs out a short laugh.  “Did we...?  No.”  
  
“What?”  Stiles wants to reach out to the man but he remains just out of reach.  
  
“Get some rest, Stiles.”  He leaves the room without another word and Stiles wonders if he’ll always be left grasping at the air in his wake.  
  
EnlargingYourWorld  
  
It takes a week of visitors going in and out of his room, each one noticeably lacking pale eyes, for Stiles to realize how much he misses his Derek.  The Derek who’d had a smile just for him and admitted what he was feeling without Stiles having to threaten and cajole... too much.  He lays awake the night before his release and wants to cry like someone in mourning for something he never actually had.  
  
It takes another two weeks of summer passing by without a broody werewolf showing up out of nowhere for Stiles to finally give in to the urge to seek the man out.  He doesn’t know what makes him head for the warehouse where the Djinn had kept him but he’s not overly surprised to find Derek there, leaning against a wall and staring off to the middle ground.  
  
“What’s up, sourwolf?” Stiles steps cautiously around the room, glancing over to where he remembers a Kate that wasn’t taunting him as she loaded her gun.  Derek doesn’t even blink to acknowledge his presence as Stiles presses further into the room.  Without the synesthesia coloring his world with every pin drop everything feels duller, more unreal.  Stiles reaches the other man and stops an arm’s reach away.  “Derek?”  
  
The brunet inhales sharply and lets it out slowly before turning grey eyes in Stiles’ direction.  “I almost missed it,” he says in a low voice.  Stiles doesn’t move, trying to exercise patience.  “It was burning incense and I hadn’t been so intune to your scent...”  
  
“Patchouli,” Stiles whispers.  Derek’s eyes tighten slightly before he gives a short nod.  “That happened in the dream too,” the teen offers.  The other man looks away again, letting his eyes sweep over the detritus and debris that litter the concrete floor.  
  
“So wait,” Stiles says after a long moment of silence.  “You know my smell?”  
  
“As if I could avoid it,” Derek cracks.  Stiles can see the ghost of his smile and he can feel his heart race as if it wants out of his chest.  
  
“My dream...” he starts and stops and starts again, “My dream was you... err... About you.”  Derek doesn’t look at him but Stiles can see the way his muscles flex in his jaw.  “Deaton said the Djinn would give me something worth staying for and he did.”  
  
“Stiles...” the words growls out of Derek’s chest like a warning but Stiles takes it as encouragement as only a reckless person can.  
  
“I wanted to stay,” he says quickly before Derek can stop him.  “I had you and I wanted to stay.”  He draws in a sharp breath and then another, waiting for Derek to react.  The other man just stares off, jaw working and hands clenching into fists.  “De...”  
  
Derek moves quickly, spinning the pair of them around until Stiles’ back thuds into the brick wall, knocking the air from his aching chest.  “Don’t.”  The words aren’t the plea Stiles remembers from the last time but they pack the same emotional punch.  
  
“I...” Stiles chokes on his words as Derek presses his arm tighter against his chest.  
  
“I am not him,” Derek insists and Stiles can only shake his head slightly.  “I can’t be him.”  
  
“Can,” Stiles croaks.  Derek lets up the pressure enough for the teen to take a full breath but doesn’t step away from where he’s crowded Stiles against the wall.  
  
“Stiles, I’m not...” the man looks down and Stiles can see the way his face screws up like he’s in pain.  “I’m just not.”  
  
“I disagree.  I think you can be if you’ll let yourself”  Derek only shakes his head and takes a step back.  Stiles reaches out for him but the other man moves too quickly for his fingers to land.    
  
“Damnit, Derek!” The teen smacks the wall behind him before pushing himself off and following the man as he strides across the room.  “Fuck you!” he shouts, words echoing like a gunshot.  Derek pauses finally but refuses to turn around.  “Fuck you and your martyr complex,” Stiles continues.  “Fuck you and your deciding that locking yourself away is the only way anyone can be safe or happy or... whatever the hell it is you think.”  
  
Stiles is standing just behind Derek now and can read the tension that crisscrosses the man’s shoulders.  “You’re wrong.  You’re wrong.  You’re wrong.”  
  
“Repeating something doesn’t make it true,” Derek says softly.  
  
“No,” Stiles agrees, “But maybe it’ll get through your fat head.”  Stiles takes another step forward until he can hear the other man’s harsh breathes.  “I saw you happy.  I saw what it was like for you to really smile.  To laugh and just... be you.  The you who doesn’t have more Louis Vuitton baggage than Paris Hilton.  I don’t know what you are thinking right now but I can guarantee that I cannot just forget that.  I don’t want to.”  
  
“Don’t...” Derek’s shoulder bend forward as Stiles continues ranting.  
  
“No,” the teen interrupts.  “No.  You can’t take it away and you can’t make me pretend that it didn’t happen.  I...” Stiles stops for a breath and realizes his eyes burning isn’t from lingering incense smoke.  “I don’t know how to be around you anymore, having seen that.”  
  
“So stay away.” Derek’s words cut through Stiles’.  
  
“I don’t want to,” the teen whispers.  “And... I don’t think you want me to either.”  He reaches out and tugs at Derek’s arm, turning the man without much effort.  “Just... tell me.”  
  
Derek shakes his head.  Stiles drops his hand and starts to back away only to have Derek follow close, backing him up until his knees hit a low ledge that forces him to sit down with a huff.  
  
“No one can say anything when you get started.”  Stiles is about to retort when Derek’s hand comes up and runs lightly along his jaw.  “You never stop and breathe, let alone let someone else form an opinion.”  Stiles bites his tongue as Derek’s fingers slide over his cheekbone as if the man is tracing every inch of him.  
  
“I can learn,” he lets slip.  Derek just rolls his eyes and drops his hands.  
  
“Do you realize how long I’ve been avoiding this?” the older man asks him.  Stiles just shakes his head, focusing instead on the way Derek’s legs seem to have moved between his own.  “Well over a year,” Derek says softly, “probably closer to two.  I have tried to ignore you for two years and you keep coming back.”  
  
“I’m like the plague,” Stiles shrugs.  Derek rolls his eyes again so fiercely the teen is worried for a moment that they might just roll all the way into his head like Beetlejuice.  
  
“You’re something,” Derek agrees with a half fond smile on his face.  Stiles counts it as a win and grins up at him.  
  
“Just give in to my awesomeness, dude.”  Stiles reaches out and tugs at Derek’s hand.  The man resists and instead grabs onto Stiles’ wrist, tugging him back onto his feet.  
  
“Not now,” he says softly.  “Not here.”  Stiles tries to protest but Derek presses a light kiss to his forehead to stops the words in their tracks.  “Later,” he whispers against Stiles’ cheek before dropping his arm and backing away.  Stiles watches him as he turns and disappears out of the room.  The teen counts to ten before letting out a whoop in celebration.  
  
“I can still hear you.”  Derek’s voice echoes and doesn’t diminish the bright glow Stiles feels growing inside of him.  
  
ThePrincetonRub  
  
Stiles takes a deep breath before stepping through the open doorway leading into the Hale house.  He knows Derek has been working on clearing out the last memories his family left behind before finally allowing the house to be demolished so he could start fresh.  That knowledge didn’t prepare him for the utter emptiness he felt as he walked through the entryway into the main hall and stared at the pale squares left behind from the freshly removed paintings.  
  
“A couple of them can be restored.”  Derek’s voice causes him to bite his own tongue as Stiles spins on his heels.  “Most were too damaged though.”  
  
“A couple is better than none at all,” Stiles offers as Derek walks to stand close to him.  
  
“Exactly.”  Derek leans in and kisses Stiles again on his forehead in the same place he’d done so a few days prior in the warehouse.  
  
“Here and now?” Stiles croaks as Derek moves to cradle his hips in his hands.  The older man only nods, guiding Stiles to walk backwards into another room.  Stiles keeps tripping over his feet until he finally falls, about to cry out when he realizes that the floor is suddenly both softer and closer than it was before.  He glances behind him and realizes he’s backed right up to a half-clean couch, pillow and blanket sitting on the floor nearby.  
  
“Is this where you’re...?” Derek shrugs down at him.  
  
“I’ve been to busy to go to the loft,” he offers as explanation.  Stiles only nods dumbly as he allows himself to be guided down to lie on the couch, Derek crowded close, the older man tossing one leg over him.  “Say something.”  
  
“I... can’t.  No words.”  Stiles mind blanks out as Derek’s hands bracket his head on the arm of the couch.  
  
“We’ll have to do this more often then.”  Stiles nods quickly before Derek descends over him, lips pressing into his gently.  A whine leaks out of one of their throats when Stiles reaches up to grab onto Derek’s hip and pulls him closer, their lower bodies finally coming in contact.  The kiss becomes messier quickly, each of them biting at the other, Derek’s stubble burning across Stiles’ cheeks.  
  
Stiles pulls back to catch his breath and Derek takes the move as invitation to begin trace his tongue along the length of Stiles’ neck.  “Tomorrow,” Stiles forces out.  “We can do this again tomorrow.”  Derek huffs against his shoulder bone, pressing his hips against Stiles in a way that reminds the teen that he is very, very horny and the man above him is very, very hot.  
  
“Or tonight,” Derek murmurs against Stiles’ ear, moving sinuously with each gasp and moan that slips from Stiles’ chest.  
  
“Or both.”  Derek pulls back for a moment to grin down at Stiles before kissing him again, tongues clashing as each tried to take control for ten seconds at a time.  “Both is good,” Stiles slips out before Derek claims his mouth again.  The older man continues to move over him, one hardness pressing alongside another with the layers separating them doing nothing to diminish the heat building between them.  
  
Stiles pulls back with a groan and red face.  “If you don’t stop that then there’s going to be a mess.”  
  
“I know,” Derek practically growls over him.  “That’s the plan.”  
  
“But... Fuck!” Stiles drops his head back as Derek presses down even harder, pace quickening.    
  
“I want it like this,” Derek says, leaning in to whisper against Stiles ear in a way that sends shivers all the way to the teen’s toes.  “I want it to smell it on you.  On me.”  
  
Stiles grunts, his hips thrusting of their of volition to meet Derek’s every move.  “You’re disgusting,” he lies.  Derek bites at his ear, blunted teeth digging in and causing Stiles to whine and his hips to stutter under the other man’s.  
  
“You like it.”  Derek grinds down harder.  “You can’t lie to me.”  
  
“Don’t want to...” Stiles moans loudly, fighting back the urge to just give.  “Don’t want...”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere.”  Derek seems to know exactly what Stiles is so very afraid of.  He kisses the teen’s lips lightly and thrust down against him.  “I promise not to disappear.”  
  
Those words are what tip Stiles over the edge and he barely has time to cry out before a warm numbness comes over him, his hips going rigid against Derek’s as he spills onto burning hot cotton.  The man above him groans loudly and moves even quicker, drawing sharp breaths in through his nose before he also freezes, hips barely moving.  Stiles can feel as Derek pulses between them and can’t help the surging feeling of power that rushes through him.  
  
“Promise?” he whispers against Derek’s neck as the other settles over top of him to catch his breath.  
  
“Promise.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was originally started for the Big Bang challenge before life turned upside down. Thanks to much prodding and sweet talking from the the ever wonderful [Verity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/veritas_st/pseuds/veritas_st) I was finally able to finish it. I might not get my art but at least Stiles got the happy ending.


End file.
